Summary: What if Harry saw a different memory in Dumbledore's Pensieve that
evening in Snape's office? (from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Snape's Worst Memory).
Disclaimer: All of these characters were created by the great J.K. Rowling
and property of Warner Brothers. You'll know them when you see them. Also,
some of the text is from this chapter was taken from the twentieth-chapter
of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, "Snape's Worst Memory". I
expect the rest of the story will be entirely original, though.
Extra: My middle school guidance counselor repeatedly told me that I am a
hyper-sensitive person, so if you do review, please be kind as well as
constructive, okay? Thanks!
Harry gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity welling inside him...What was is that Snape was so keen to hide from Harry?
Harry walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. He hesitated, listening, then pulled out his wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand.
The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Harry leaned forward over it and saw that it had become transparent. His breath was actually fogging the surface of Snape's thoughts...His brain seemed to be in limbo...It would seem insane to do the thing that he was so strongly tempted to do...Snape could be back at any moment...A reckless daring seized him. He took a great gulp of breath and plunged his face into the surface of Snape's thoughts. At once, the floor of the office lurched, tipping Harry headfirst into the Pensieve...
He was falling through cold blackness, spinning furiously as he went, and then-
Harry landed on the same position as he had been standing on before going into the Pensieve. Snape walked through the door, looking about fifteen years younger, though as greasy as ever. He sat at his desk and began to grade essays about the properties and uses of shrivelfig. The scene looked ordinary enough, but after a double take, Harry noticed four picture frames settled at the front edge of the desk. He craned his neck to take a look. Each frame contained a different photograph of the same violet- eyed brunette. The first was of her waving from a distance, in the second you could see her reading in a chair, and the third featured her flying in a robe of blue-the Ravenclaw color. The fourth, to Harry's shock, had her in a white wedding robe kissing Snape rather passionately.
A large black owl swooped through the door, dropped a letter onto the floor and turned around. Snape whispered bloody stupid bird as he snatched it up from the ground, and ripped it open. When he had finished, he dropped it back onto the floor. His face resembled that of a patient's in the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Harry got onto his knees, grabbed the parchment, and felt his stomach lurch as he read.
Your wife is dead.
A picture appeared under the text, but what it showed he did not see. A hand had closed tight right over his upper arm, closed with a princerlike grip. Wincing, Harry looked around to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, the present Snape standing right beside him, white with rage.
"So," said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so rightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. "Been enjoying yourself, Potter?"
"No-no..." said Harry, trying to free his arm.
It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared. Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard onto the dungeon floor.
"You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!" Snape bellowed. "No," said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could, "No, of course I w-"
"Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!" And as Harry hurtled toward the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and flew away up the corridor, stopping only when he had put three floors between himself and Snape. Then he leaned against the wall, panting, and rubbing his bruised arm before sneaking into Gryffindor Tower, very greatful that neither Hermione nor Ron were in the common room to question why he was back so early from Occlumency.
Harry gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity welling inside him...What was is that Snape was so keen to hide from Harry?
Harry walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. He hesitated, listening, then pulled out his wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand.
The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Harry leaned forward over it and saw that it had become transparent. His breath was actually fogging the surface of Snape's thoughts...His brain seemed to be in limbo...It would seem insane to do the thing that he was so strongly tempted to do...Snape could be back at any moment...A reckless daring seized him. He took a great gulp of breath and plunged his face into the surface of Snape's thoughts. At once, the floor of the office lurched, tipping Harry headfirst into the Pensieve...
He was falling through cold blackness, spinning furiously as he went, and then-
Harry landed on the same position as he had been standing on before going into the Pensieve. Snape walked through the door, looking about fifteen years younger, though as greasy as ever. He sat at his desk and began to grade essays about the properties and uses of shrivelfig. The scene looked ordinary enough, but after a double take, Harry noticed four picture frames settled at the front edge of the desk. He craned his neck to take a look. Each frame contained a different photograph of the same violet- eyed brunette. The first was of her waving from a distance, in the second you could see her reading in a chair, and the third featured her flying in a robe of blue-the Ravenclaw color. The fourth, to Harry's shock, had her in a white wedding robe kissing Snape rather passionately.
A large black owl swooped through the door, dropped a letter onto the floor and turned around. Snape whispered bloody stupid bird as he snatched it up from the ground, and ripped it open. When he had finished, he dropped it back onto the floor. His face resembled that of a patient's in the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Harry got onto his knees, grabbed the parchment, and felt his stomach lurch as he read.
Your wife is dead.
A picture appeared under the text, but what it showed he did not see. A hand had closed tight right over his upper arm, closed with a princerlike grip. Wincing, Harry looked around to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, the present Snape standing right beside him, white with rage.
"So," said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so rightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. "Been enjoying yourself, Potter?"
"No-no..." said Harry, trying to free his arm.
It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared. Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard onto the dungeon floor.
"You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!" Snape bellowed. "No," said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could, "No, of course I w-"
"Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!" And as Harry hurtled toward the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and flew away up the corridor, stopping only when he had put three floors between himself and Snape. Then he leaned against the wall, panting, and rubbing his bruised arm before sneaking into Gryffindor Tower, very greatful that neither Hermione nor Ron were in the common room to question why he was back so early from Occlumency.
